


Love Like Camellias

by ty_callisto (orphan_account)



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst with a Happy Ending, Coming of Age, Growing Up, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Orphanage, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:46:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24542560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/ty_callisto
Summary: Hyunjin was at the rooftop, and Jisung was intrigued.
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Hwang Hyunjin
Comments: 8
Kudos: 103





	Love Like Camellias

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tocallsomeoneyourfriend](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tocallsomeoneyourfriend/gifts).



> Trigger Warning: Implied/Referenced child abuse

The Camellias bloomed.

Hefty layers of thick ice and snow had yet to melt away, trees swayed with their frozen leaves and branches and the sun hid shyly behind gloomy grey clouds. Winter had been harsh and ruthless, much more than usual, and the muddy soil that peeked through the white here and there was deeply deprived of anything to offer the life that thrived above it. 

And yet, the Camellias bloomed.

Han Jisung couldn’t bring himself to care for the layer of snowflakes slowly mounding atop his head. As he sat beside the bush of Camellias, clothes slowly getting damper in the icy weather, he had little interest for anything other than hot pink flowers and the bees that buzzed around them.

His fingertips were blue and numb when he brushed against the petals, gathering drops of melted ice that dripped to the ground in quiet splats. Their bright tint was vibrant against the snow, so much that they stood out wonderfully amid a colorless scenery, bringing the promise of a vivid spring that would soon take over the cold, grey winter.

A gentle hand held onto his shoulder as a soft voice called for him. He didn’t want to look away from the Camellias. He yearned to sit there in the cold until his limbs froze off, and even then he would not have had enough of the flowers. They took his breath away in ways nothing ever could, and no matter how many times he saw them, it was impossible to grow bored.

“Jisung,” the soft voice called again, “Breakfast.”

He tore his gaze away, albeit hesitantly, and looked up. 

Park Jihyo was a peculiar woman. She couldn’t be that old, not with the brightness behind her eyes or the youthful smile she always wore. Her hair was pinned up strangely and her apron was a funky mess of mismatched cloth, and yet the elegance she exuded was impossible to ignore.

“Come.” She beckoned him over, hand still on his shoulder, and the two of them strolled back to the large house past the front of the gardens. 

The orphanage wasn’t anything like those in movies. Truthfully, most weren’t.

It was a bit inconvenient to live so far from the city, near farms and producers. But the distance was what granted the children a beautiful place to stay. The House was painted white all over — except for the walls where the kids drew on with markers that wouldn’t wash out. It was two stories high and had enough room for all of them and more.

The smell inside was constantly of baby powder and red pepper, which Ms. Park seemed keen on using in every meal she could prepare. The volunteers that often came around were always amazed over just how much of it she used, but Jisung had grown used to the spice after years of gobbling it down.

A big bowl of stew was placed in the middle of the table when they entered. Its bright red broth bubbled and steamed — Jisung felt his mouth water. 

Ever since Hwang Management sponsored the orphanage their food had skyrocketed, both in quantity and in quality. Their supplies came in weekly, and in such big heaps that Jisung didn’t have to worry about feeling guilty for having seconds. 

But Hwang Management wasn’t just a sponsor. 

It was more than just having the luxury of appreciating food and drinks they otherwise wouldn’t be able to. If not for the company, all of the kids — including Jisung, who still had a few months to go before he became of age — would be transferred to the orphanages up in the city.

Their saving grace, perhaps.

“Get changed and come eat,” said Ms. Park, heading into the kitchen where a teapot screeched. 

Jisung’s room was one of the smallest, but in compensation, he got it all for himself. Being the oldest there had its perks, after all. He quietly crept up the stairs, careful to not stir the children sleeping in their rooms. 

His uniform laid ironed on his bed, a mustard yellow tie stretched neatly above it. He slipped it on without much fuss, ignoring the way his skin itched and prickled with the rough fabric.

The Jisung in the mirror stared back at him with dark circles under his eyes and disheveled hair. He reached up to try and tame it, but the strands stuck out stubbornly. A bright glint from under his collar caught his eye, and he quickly pulled the silver necklace out from under his shirt. 

_HH,_ it read on the metal plate held by the chain. Letters he never knew the meaning of.

With a sigh, he stuffed his bag and slung it over his shoulder. 

A boy with thick black hair and a sleepy look on his face sat at the dining table when he padded back down. 

Jeongin was roughly two years younger than him but often acted as if they were a decade apart. Jisung had known him ever since he first arrived at the place, but back then he’d been nothing but a toddler that could barely squeeze out any words.

“Hey, kid,” Jisung said with a smile. He got a lazy hum in return. “Excited?”

“Why would I be?” Jeongin muttered, voice thick and slurred, while Jisung grabbed a bowl for each and served them both. 

“First day back since break, aren’t you excited to see your friends?”

“I had lunch with Beomgyu yesterday. Not very thrilling.”

“You talk about him every day,” said Ms. Park, carrying two lunchboxes in one hand and a basket of laundry in the other. “But you’ve never invited him over. Or any of those other boys you’re always on about. You used to bring over all your friends.”

“Ah, well…” Jeongin scratched the back of his neck.

“What’s in these?” Jisung asked, pointing at the lunchboxes. He had a pretty good idea as to why Jeongin stopped showing off his ‘cool house’ to his friends.

“Spam and bibimbap, we’re out of radishes though. The stock should arrive in the evening.”

“Do you want me to help?” Jisung asked, taking his box and packing it in his bag. 

“Oh, no. Nayeon said she’d be coming over with some other volunteers.” She set the laundry down near the staircase and whipped around, a stern look on her face. “Also, you promised you’d try to join a club.”

“Right, forgot about that.”

Ms. Park had been set on convincing Jisung to join a club ever since their school started them. He wasn’t too keen on spending even more time at the place, but she had nagged and bothered him to the point that he couldn’t get in a _good morning_ without being asked what his favorite hobby was.

“Seriously, Jisung, I honestly believe—” he resisted the urge to roll his eyes “—that you should do something to get that voice of yours out there! You’ve always loved writing, and I think you should stop keeping it all to yourself.”

He didn’t answer.

“She’s got a point,” said Jeongin as they trailed away from the House, bags on their shoulders and hands in their pockets. It was barely snowing, but the small snowflakes caught in midair were enough to give them chills, nevertheless enchanting to look at. “Come with me to my music club.”

Jisung sighed.

“You’ve already offered before,” he said, “and I’ve always told you the same thing.” Jeongin made a face. “Look, I appreciate it, really, but there’s a difference between liking something and being good at it.”

“You don’t have to be good at something to do it.” They walked down the icy road, narrowly avoiding slipping. There was a bus stop about fifteen minutes from the House, near the city. “Also, I don’t know how good you are since you never bother showing me your stuff—”

“Hey, I show you things!”

“—but you’ll never get better if you don’t practice. And I’m sure you’d love the guys! Most of them are from your year, anyway.”

“Ah, that’s exactly why I wouldn’t love them.”

Jeongin slapped the back of his head.

“Shut up, edge lord.” 

“I don’t even make music. I write poems, and most of them are corny and gross anyway.” He scrunched his face.

“You sing. And you rap — I’ve heard you rapping to those songs, don’t even pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“No, Jeongin, _you_ sing. You’ve always sung, even at school.”

“And you could too!”

They rounded a corner towards pavemented streets. Jisung shook his head, silent.

Jeongin was lucky. Jisung couldn’t say where the boy managed to get such a bubbly personality or how he became as outgoing as he now was, but if one thing was for sure, it was that he was lucky. Jeongin could sing in front of the whole school without feeling embarrassed, he could go around making friends and talking to everybody, or charming his colleagues — be it intentionally or not.

Jisung wasn’t lucky, but he’d learned to live with it. He was fine, keeping his cheesy poems to himself and getting lost in songs that shut him off from the world, even if for a minute.

They arrived with the bus and hurried inside, just short of missing it. The ride was quiet, save for the music in Jisung’s headphones, and Jeongin’s soft humming.

The bell rang as they entered the school building, parting their ways. Jisung’s locker awaited him on the third floor, so he let himself be carried by the ocean of students up three sets of stairs until he could slip away.

The class was loud when he walked in and sat at the front. But he wasn’t, and no one spared him so much as a glance as he rested his cheek against the palm of his hand and watched the trees swaying just outside the window.

“Welcome back, class.”

The teacher’s voice was drowned out by a quiet buzz in his ears, and he let his thoughts be carried away as he spotted hot pink Camellias thriving in the school’s garden. 

The thing with school was that Jisung couldn’t be any less bothered by it. He’d given up on aced grades and chasing the spot as top of class years ago, and he wasn’t about to start caring now. Besides, he didn’t need those, not for what his future held.

Jisung had always known he wouldn’t go to college. Ms. Park sat him down a few months ago and asked what he wanted to do. They both knew he couldn’t afford tuition, and the chances of him getting a full-blown scholarship were so slim he’d never even dwelled on them. She hadn’t said much, except that she was sorry. He told her she didn’t have to worry, because he had a plan, and that plan was the only way he could see himself in the years to come.

That plan didn’t involve college, which was why he wished his teachers would stop feeding him hopes that he might have a shot.

“Chonnam University would be perfect for you, Jisung,” said Mr. Im, a twinkle in his eyes. “A few colleagues of mine told me about some programs that I think you might enjoy.”

Mr. Im was one of the youngest teachers at their school, which might have been one of the reasons why Jisung took such a liking to him. He taught Literature and Writing in old almost-victorian style suits with funky spectacles that made him look like a character who came straight out of an anime. 

Jisung liked him so much because of how casually he worked. With him, it didn’t feel like a mistake would be the end of the world and a door to embarrassment. He was a friend — a professional friend, but still somewhat a friend. And maybe it wasn’t so great that one of his only school friends was his teacher, but Mr. Im almost made him feel normal, and that was what mattered in the long run. 

Also, he had other friends. Such as the librarian.

“Thank you, sir,” he muttered awkwardly, “I appreciate the intention, but I don’t plan on going to college.”

He squirmed uncomfortably as the man stared him down. Then, taking off his spectacles with a sigh, Mr. Im said, “Jisung, I’ve been teaching you for a while now,” and he braced himself for a bitter conversation he didn’t want to have.

“Yes, you have.”

“And over this time,” Mr. Im continued, seeming to have missed the bitterness in Jisung’s voice, “I’ve come to learn that you are an exceptional human being with a brilliant mind and a unique nick for writing. You are extremely talented and, correct me if I’m wrong, seem to enjoy the projects in my class. Jisung, it would be a waste not to explore what greatness your abilities could unlock.”

“You make it sound like I have superpowers.”

“You might as well. You’re extraordinary, you know.”

Praise was something he never learned to deal with, mostly because all the praise he’d ever received sounded like a mere obligation, something someone felt the need to give him. If he was as special as he’d been told before, he wouldn’t have spent two-thirds of his eighteen years of life in an orphanage, would he?

“Er, thanks.”

Once again, Mr. Im silently stared at him, and he looked away because the shine in his teacher’s eyes was a dangerous one. 

The bell rang.

“I should go…”

Mr. Im, who seemed to only then have noticed the loud blaring, jumped and wrenched open one of his desk’s cabinets.

“Of course, of course,” he muttered, scrambling through piles of paper. “Let me just give you something. Ah, where is it… Aha!” He pulled out a maroon sheet about the size of half a piece of paper and handed it to Jisung.

_Chonnam University_ , it read in bold letters at the very top. An image in the middle showed an ocean of students climbing up a set of stairs in front of dozens of slick modern buildings.

“I understand what kind of situation you are in,” said Mr. Im. Jisung clamped his mouth shut to stop himself from biting out _no you don’t_. “And I know that you are an extremely selfless person, always putting certain people above yourself. But it’s okay to be selfish sometimes. You deserve this, something for you and only you.” When Jisung said nothing, he continued, “Chonnam offers scholarships for students that can’t afford tuition, even more for those who they deem skilled above average. I only ask you to consider it as a possibility.”

A sliver of excitement crawled up his spine. He hated it. He hated this sense of hope, it made him feel pathetic. He had a plan, and that plan was what he’d stick to.

“I’ll think about it,” he lied, only because there was no other way to slip away from the man’s clutches.

Mr. Im seemed please, and Jisung resisted the urge to yell at him for making it sound so simple. Instead, he bid him goodbye and walked out of the classroom, flyer in hand.

Outside the building, near the track fields, with his back against the wall, he looked down at the paper. The letters were taunting him. What use was talent if he could get nowhere with it? What did it help being extraordinary if no one would ever be there to notice?

He shoved the sheet in his bag, ignoring how it crumpled up, and kicked off the wall.

He spent lunchtime up at the rooftop where nobody bothered going during winter. Even when it wasn’t snowing the tiles were all covered in ice and frozen puddles that were easy to slip on. Not to mention how cold it got without the school’s heater. But, as long as he had a pair of gloves and a beanie to cover his ears, Jisung didn’t mind at all. 

Crowds of students weren’t the worst things in the world, but he wasn’t much of a fan of them either way. Some days he could just quietly sit at the cafeteria and mind his own business, but other days he had to get himself a bit of fresh air and silence.

Except the fresh air was freezing and the silence wasn’t there.

“You’re brave,” said a deep voice. “Coming up here during winter, when it’s the coldest.”

Jisung looked up.

The boy standing across him was familiar, and his brain scrambled for a name but came up with nothing. He was tall, much taller than he was, and wore his uniform with a half-done tie and crumpled up sleeves. His eyes were sharp, so sharp they almost completely stole the spotlight from the big, dark bruise on his cheek.

“I can say the same for you,” Jisung muttered. “You aren’t even wearing your blazer.”

The boy smirked.

“Why do I feel like I know you?” he asked, sitting against the wall opposite to Jisung.

“I think it’s because we’re in the same school, but that’d just be a wild guess, right?”

“Ha,” the boy laughed, unamused. “I’m Hyunjin.”

“Didn’t ask.”

“You’ve got a smart mouth,” said Hyunjin, tilting his head.

“So I’ve been told.”

“Are you really not going to tell me your name?”

Jisung pretended to think about it.

“Nope,” he popped the _p_. “You’ll figure out that one on your own.”

If only he had known then how much would change because of that boy with a bruise and an enticing smile.  


Jeongin caught him at the school exit, headphones in, and one foot off-campus.

“What the hell?” Jisung grunted.

“Where were you going?” Jeongin asked, holding onto his arm.

“Um, to the House?”

“You said you would come with me to my music club!”

Jisung narrowed his eyes.

“No, I didn’t.” He paused. “Did I?”

“Let’s just say you did.”

“Yeah, no.”

Jeongin pouted, which, in any other circumstance, would have made him melt right then and there. Instead, he shrugged him off and bid him goodbye, earning a scowl and a warning of, “Ms. Park will not be happy when you tell her.”

And he was right.

“I already told you I didn’t need help!” Ms. Park hissed.

They were in the kitchen, kneeling beside the refrigerator with a box of organics. The volunteers were just behind them, dealing with the other packages, so Jisung made sure to whisper.

“But they’re useless,” he said, nudging his head towards them. “They only put everything in the wrong place.”

“They’re still helping.” She flicked his forehead. “And I told you I wanted you to find a club. Why didn’t you go with Jeongin?”

“I’m not going to a stupid—”

“Ms. Park?” someone hesitantly called. “Sorry, I’m late. Got held up at school.”

It was a boy who looked to be about Jisung’s age, with big round glasses and clean-cut hair. He wore a uniform Jisung couldn’t recognize. 

“Seungmin!” Ms. Park smiled. “Oh, don’t worry about it. You’re here now.” She shot up and gave him a small hug. “You can help Jisung here, with the organics.”

He nodded and she scurried off, but not without giving Jisung a look that told him their conversation was far from over.

“Hello,” said Seungmin, kindly.

Jisung tried not to grimace. He hadn’t had the best experience with volunteers, and the expensive aura the boy gave off made him wary. 

“Hi,” he muttered because he wasn’t a _completely_ rude brat.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around,” said Seungmin, sitting beside him.

“Usually the stocks arrive in the morning when I’m at school,” he explained.

“Ah, that’s why. My classes were in the evening, at my other school.”

It turned out Seungmin was much cooler than he originally thought. He was kind and easy to talk to — and he talked _a lot._ Jisung soon found out he went to a school on the other side of the city, and when he asked why he would volunteer somewhere so far away, he shrugged and said he wanted to help kids, and the orphanages in the city were always packed with people willing to help.

That was when Jisung decided he liked him. More often than not, the volunteers were just people who wanted a stamp on a piece of paper to prove they did some good.

Seungmin wasn’t like that, though. And even if he wore an expensive watch, pricey shoes, and sometimes talked too much of his rich mother, Jisung liked him. 

“I hope I’ll see you next time,” said Seungmin, and Jisung hoped the same.  


Hyunjin was at the rooftop again.

“Oh, it’s Mr. Smart Mouth,” he chirped.

Jisung ignored him. He wasn’t feeling it, and dealing with the weird rooftop-boy wasn’t how he wanted to spend his lunchtime.

After the volunteers left, Ms. Park had made it her mission to bicker with him more than ever, which only got worse when Jeongin chipped in as well. He’d spent the whole night tossing and turning, thinking of the flyer in his bag and the insistence with which they pestered him. And then, this morning, the first thing he’d heard was, _good morning, clubless prat._

So, yeah. He wasn’t in the best mood.

The snow crunched when he plopped down, leaning his head back on the wall with a sigh.

“Someone’s having a bad day.”

“Please shut up.”

“Aw, you hurt me.”

He grunted.

“Want to tell me what happened?” Hyunjin asked. “I’ve been told I give great advice.”

Jisung stared at him. He had a bright smile that hardly matched the bruise on his cheek, which had begun to fade away. But his right eye was circled in dark purple and nearly swollen shut.

“I don’t want to take advice from someone who’s getting beat up,” he quipped. “But thanks, I appreciate the offer.”

Hyunjin’s smile faltered.

“Your loss,” he said, quickly gathering himself.

Jisung narrowed his eyes, waiting to see if he would bother him any more, but Hyunjin just sat down opposite to him and fiddled with his fingers. He was smiling, almost absentmindedly, and it was hard to read the blank look in his eyes.

Not that he cared, but a strange sense of deja vu overtook him then. 

Without another word, he opened his lunch and stuffed his mouth. 

When the bell rang, Hyunjin didn’t move. And, even when a curious part of him begged to ask, Jisung said nothing.

It was quite funny, really. He couldn’t focus in class — not that he ever did. But that day all he could think of was the strange boy at the rooftop who seemed so inexplicably familiar.

“Maybe you just saw him around all the time,” said Jeongin when Jisung asked him if he knew anything about a Hyunjin. “Like, in the halls. You probably never stopped to look at him, though.”

Jisung made a face.

“But it’s different,” he said.

“How so?”

They were in Jisung’s room because Yedam — the twelve-year-old boy that roomed with Jeongin — had kicked him out, claiming he needed to rehearse his role in the school play. This led to Ms. Park telling Jisung he should try the drama club, which then led to him hiding in his room, which _then_ led to Jeongin barging inside because _I’m bored_.

“Like,” Jisung started. “I don’t know how to explain it. It’s this feeling, you know?”

“No.”

“Well, um. I guess it feels like I’ve met him before, but not just _met_ him. Like, I was close to him, I think.”

“And you don’t remember him at all?”

Jisung shook his head.

“Maybe you knew him in a past life,” Jeongin suggested.

“Argh, shut up.” He huffed. “You’re useless.”

“Thanks.”  


The next day found Jisung climbing up to the rooftop in a scarf and an extra jacket. He’d come up with something in the middle of the night, and it’d kept him wide awake. Probably just a cold, but his head banged and his throat felt incredibly sore.

Hyunjin was sitting on his wall this time, which threw him off.

Jisung paused, staring at the boy. He was looking straight ahead with a blank face, which might have been creepy, but Jisung was feeling a bit too queasy to care.

Without much thought, he sat beside him.

This seemed to startle Hyunjin back into reality because he gave a little jump and whipped around with that same bright smile. There weren’t any new blemishes, which, for some reason, made Jisung feel a bit better.

“Mr. Smart Mouth!” Hyunjin beamed.

“You could have come up with about a million other nicknames,” Jisung grunted, hugging his knees to his chest. “And you chose Smart Mouth?” 

“Mr. Smart Mouth,” he corrected, “And it wouldn’t be a problem if you told me your name.”

“I’m not telling—” he cut himself off with a sneeze. 

“Why did you come up here?” Hyunjin asked, frowning. “It’s cold. You’re cold.”

“It’s also quiet.” He paused, giving him a once-over. “Well, it used to be.”

Hyunjin scoffed. When he started shifting, Jisung thought he’d gotten offended. But then he was pulling off his blazer, which he’d decided to wear that day, and—

Oh.

_Oh_.

Jisung blushed, which made him angry because he did not _blush_. He never blushed, so why the hell did his cheeks glow a violent shade of red when Hyunjin threw his blazer over his shoulders?

He choked.

“There,” Hyunjin said, and he was smiling again. “Now you’ll be extra warm.”

“You’ll get cold,” Jisung croaked, which was not what was supposed to happen. He’d meant to snap something snarky like _what good does a blazer do in this weather I’m literally already wearing a jacket_.

“I’m not the sick one.”

And the way his eyes lit up, so warm and soft, made Jisung want to jump off the rooftop. 

But before he could commit to his momentary impulse to destroy the whole world and then himself, Hyunjin winked. Which. Looked very weird with a black eye.  


Jeongin was useless, as previously stated.

And Seungmin was nice, also previously stated.

So, yeah, Jisung barely even knew him beside the two-hour conversation they’d had in front of bananas and cabbages. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t go to him for help.

“You might have been childhood friends,” Seungmin suggested. Unlike Jisung, who’d abandoned the tub of radishes he was supposed to be scrubbing free of dirt, he was actually doing his job.

“That wouldn’t make sense,” Jisung stressed. “I’m pretty sure I didn’t have any friends as a kid.”

“Maybe you just don’t remember?”

“No, no, I’d remember.” He paused. “At least I think I would.”

Seungmin huffed a laugh and brushed the bangs out of his eyes.

“Aren’t you making this a bit more complicated than it is?” 

“It’s just so weird,” Jisung groaned.

“If it’s bothering you so much, why don’t you ask him?”

“He doesn’t even know my name.”

He should have expected it, but Seungmin ended up not being very helpful at all. So, with some of Ms. Park’s pestering, he continued to clean the radishes as his mind swarmed with thoughts of Hyunjin, Hyunjin, Hyunjin.

At some point, he asked himself if it was healthy to be this obsessed with a boy he barely knew. _Or might’ve known_ , his mind helpfully supplied.

The answer was no, it probably wasn’t. But as the next few days passed by, Jisung found himself delving even deeper. Hyunjin was always there, at the rooftop, sitting against the wall. And Jisung would sit beside him, eat his lunch and wonder. 

Wonder why he felt this familiarity, why Hyunjin was so easy to be around, why he made him feel warm from the inside out. Wonder why he’d show up with cuts and bruises and act like they weren’t there. 

It took him much longer than his pride would let him admit to turn to the most obvious solution. 

It was a Sunday when he approached Ms. Park in the garden. She was pulling the weeds from between the roots of the Camellia bushes, which had begun to droop as winter pushed on.

“Ms. Park, can I ask you something?” he questioned, kneeling beside her to help.

“Anything, Jisung,” she huffed.

“When I was a kid, did I ever have any friends?”

She paused and looked up at him with searching eyes.

“Well,” she slowly started. “You were rather closed off. It took you a while to even speak with the others at the orphanage, and to play with the kids in your class.”

“So, no.”

“I’m not sure, Jisung,” she sighed. “But I can’t remember you ever mentioning anyone.”

He nodded and for a few moments, they worked silently, fingers numb under thick gloves.

“Have you ever heard of a boy named Hyunjin?” he asked, deciding it was worth a shot.

“Hyunjin? I know a few. But does this Hyunjin have a surname?”

Jisung furrowed his brows.

“Crap.”  


“Oh, so _now_ you’re interested in me,” Hyunjin huffed the following day.

“Not interested,” Jisung said through gritted teeth. “Just curious.”

“Aren’t those the same thing?” 

“No,” he snapped, irritated. “You know what, never mind. Forget I asked.”

Hyunjin grinned from where he stood near the ledge. Humming, he skipped towards Jisung and sat in front of him.

“How could I forget? People rarely ever ask for my surname.”

Jisung eyed him pensively.

“If I tell you my name, will you answer and forget I ever asked?” 

Hyunjin’s smile widened, which seemed impossible a second ago. Then, slowly and without looking away from him, he leaned forward. He was so close Jisung could smell the mint in his breath and see the bruises around his neck.

“Han Jisung,” he whispered, a twinkle in his eyes. “Why would I need you to tell me a name I already know?”

Jisung tried not to let his shock show, but he still felt his brow twitch and his lips part. A part of him roared inside because at that moment he just knew Hyunjin hadn’t needed to ask anyone or to look him up. Hyunjin had known, and he wasn’t quite sure how, but he did.

“If you really want to know my surname, you’ll have to find it out on your own,” Hyunjin cheekily said, pulling away so suddenly the air where he’d been felt like a slap of cold.

And, once again, Jisung’s mind became too busy for everything that was not Hyunjin.

Quite literally, at that.

He and Seungmin were sitting at the porch, legs swing off the edge, when Seungmin said, “Jisung, I haven’t known you for too long, but I can say that all you ever talk about is this boy.”

“Sorry,” he muttered, kicking his feet.

He felt a pang of guilt for how much he’d gone on about his own life.

“No, no,” said Seungmin, quickly. “It hasn’t bothered me. It’s fun listening to you struggle.”

“Hey!”

“What I meant,” he continued, smiling, “was that maybe there’s a reason you’re so invested in him. Like, you keep saying you feel like you’ve met him before, and you’re always on about, well, just him, in general.”

“What are you suggesting?” Jisung asked, biting his lip nervously.

“I think… Maybe you should get to know him better? You say you only see each other at lunchtime, why’s that? Give him your number, or something.”

“Seungmin, I don’t even have a phone,” Jisung deadpanned. Seungmin grimaced.

“Right, sorry.” He scratched his head awkwardly. “Well, I mean, you can still do more, I guess. Like, invite him to have ice cream. Or offer to meet up after school. Ask if he’s in any club.”

“Oh, god, not the clubs,” Jisung groaned. 

Seungmin stared at him quizzically.  


Regardless, their conversation stuck to Jisung’s head. It didn’t seem like such a bad idea to invite Hyunjin out. Or, at the very least, offer to meet up somewhere that wasn’t the cold rooftop.

But it turned out he didn’t have to make much of an effort, because that same week, on Thursday, Hyunjin was at the exit, leaning against the gates like some edge lord from an American high school drama.

“Mr. Smart Mouth!” he cried out, making about half a dozen heads turn. 

“What the hell?” Jisung seethed when he reached him. “Literally what is your problem? Why do you insist on calling me that?”

“Think of it as a term of endearment,” was the stupidest thing Jisung had ever heard. He could not name one person who would like to be called _Mr. Smart Mouth_. It was stupid, horrendous and should have irritated him.

Instead, he felt warm. And fuzzy.

“Shut up,” he quipped, passing straight by him and rushing down the sidewalk. His cheeks felt warm again. They did that a lot around him. 

To his surprise, Hyunjin followed with a slight bounce in his step.

“I do hope you don’t plan on kidnapping me,” said Jisung, keeping his chin up.

“I would never,” said Hyunjin, a serious tilt to his voice. “I’d never hurt you.”

Jisung stopped. For reasons unknown, his heart pounded against the ribcage that confided it, and his lungs suddenly felt too heavy.

He looked at Hyunjin. _Really_ looked. The dark spots on his face had begun to fade, but new ones always appeared. On his eyes, his cheeks, his neck, his wrists. They were always there. 

“Hyunjin…” he murmured.

But Hyunjin just beamed, like nothing had happened at all, and continued trotting down towards the bus stop, where they parted ways.

And so it happened again. And again.

Hyunjin would wait for him at the school exit — Jisung often asked himself if the boy even went to class himself, because it sure as hell didn’t seem like it — and the two would walk down towards the bus station.

Jisung found himself blushing too much around Hyunjin, and he often had to tell himself to get a grip, because, once again, he didn’t _blush_.

At some point, things changed. Jisung couldn’t tell why, but the warmth in his chest simply felt different. 

He watched the ice and snow melt away as the days passed on, and the Camellias slowly became sadder and sadder, dropping down towards the ground.

The feeling, the warmth, it only grew. Being around Hyunjin sparked things inside him that should have been dangerous, but he pushed on and kept meeting him up at the rooftop, every lunch break without fault.

Jisung couldn’t help but let himself indulge in his Hyunjin-addiction.

“What are you going to do once you graduate?” he asked one day when Hyunjin had offered to buy him something sweet.

They were sitting at an ice cream parlor, in the only empty booth. Jisung felt fancy and expensive with his pistachio gelato, and he tried not to judge too hard when Hyunjin ordered mint chocolate chip — which, gross.

“Good question,” Hyunjin hummed. “I’m not sure.”

“Aren’t you going to college?”

He grinned and said, “I’m not sure about that either. And you?”

Jisung shook his head.

“I can’t,” he muttered, a slight bitterness underlying his words. “I’ve got other things to do.”

“Do you want to? Go to college, I mean.”

He thought about it, swirling the ice cream in his cone. If it were anybody else — Ms. Park, Jeongin, Mr. Im, anyone at all — he would have said no, because he did not want a pity party or fake hope. But Hyunjin would give him neither, he was sure.

“Yes,” he said.

“Then try.”

“I already told you, I can’t.”

“Screw responsibilities,” Hyunjin grunted, throwing his head back on the booth. “Screw what everyone else tells you to do. Screw what you _think_ you have to do.”

Jisung grinned.

“I wish.”

“No, Jisung.” Hyunjin leaned forward, over the table. “Screw it all. Do what you want, not what you feel responsible to do. You’re too good to have a life you don’t want to live.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“You’ll never know if you don’t try.”

Jisung looked down at his ice cream. The warmth was there again, curling around his insides and clouding up his mind. 

Suddenly, Hyunjin grabbed his face with both his hands and forced him to look back up. He shrieked and tried to pull away, but Hyunjin held on tighter with a stern glow in his eyes.

“Screw it.”

“Hyunjin, what the hell?”

“Screw it!”

Jisung stared at him, and he stared back. Hyunjin’s hands felt cold against his heated cheeks.

“Screw it,” he repeated, firmly.

“Screw it.”

Hyunjin beamed.

The maroon _Chonnam University_ flyer in his hands taunted him later that night. He stared at it, the letters and the happy students in the photo. 

He wanted to hate the feeling crawling in his head, that told him he might have a chance if he gave it a shot. It wasn’t hope, no. It felt different than the hope Mr. Im had always fed him. He couldn’t say what it was, but he found himself unable to hate it.

In fact, he loved it.

_Screw it_ , he thought to himself.  


It was cloudy the day everything changed.

Hyunjin was awfully quiet, and he looked so blank he barely seemed aware of the world around him. There was a bandage wrapped around his neck, and Jisung was almost too afraid of the scratches on his face to ask.

“Hey,” he said, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk when Hyunjin nearly ran into the nth post. “What’s going on with you?”

The blank look in his eyes took too long to fade, and when it did, Jisung still felt like he was barely there.

“Nothing,” said Hyunjin.

“Don’t bullshit me.”

Jisung expected him to huff another laugh, or brush it off like he always did. Instead, the empty smile he’d been wearing slowly slipped off, and Jisung’s heart ached. His eyes were clouded and unfocused, as id he were staring right past him. 

Slowly, he took Hyunjin’s hand in his, rubbing his thumb across the knuckles. He looked up at the boy and searched for his eyes.

The moment felt too intimate, too close. And yet, Jisung found himself wishing it would never end.

“Hey, I know you hate me but did you have to leave me behind?” a voice boomed behind them.

He startled so hard he jumped back with a yelp, whipping around to see Jeongin stomping towards him furiously.

“Jeongin, I’m so sorry!” he cried, frantically. “I forgot!”

“I don’t care if you forgot,” Jeongin scowled. “You still—”

He froze when his eyes landed on Hyunjin. 

“Jeongin?” Jisung muttered when he didn’t make to move. “You good?”

“Yeah,” he said, dryly. “Yeah, good.”

“Right, well.” Jisung turned to Hyunjin. “We have to get going.”

“Of course.” Hyunjin smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Nice talk, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he breathed as Hyunjin walked back towards the school, and he pretended not to see the slight limp to his step.

“What the hell?” Jeongin frantically whispered, grabbing his arm. “ _What the hell_?!”

“Jesus, what?” Jisung snapped, wrenching away from his harsh hold.

“Please don’t tell me that’s the Hyunjin you’re always on about.”

“Yeah, it is,” he said, defensively. “What about it?”

Jeongin stared at him incredulously. 

“‘What about it’, he says.” He grabbed his other arm. “Jisung, that’s Hwang Hyunjin.”

He could recall the exact moment he felt his heart sink between his feet, so far down it traveled deeper than the oceans.

“No, that would mean—”

“That’s the son of Hwang Management’s CEO.”  


Truthfully, Jisung should have dealt with it better. But upon hearing this, his mind kind of just shut down.

Out of all the people Hyunjin could have been, this was one of the few Jisung would have never expected. One could say he was exaggerating, but finding this out made him realize just how little he knew of the boy.

It made him feel stupid, really. Stupid for convincing himself he could feel as warm as he thought he did around Hyunjin. Stupid for spending so much time dwelling on him and worrying for him. Him, a boy whom he barely knew. Whom he didn’t know at all.

And a part of him felt irritated knowing that nearly his entire life had depended on Hyunjin’s family. Hyunjin, who he’d simply assumed was like him — far from normal, different, outcasted.

Promising himself he’d talk to Hyunjin the next day, Jisung fell into a restless sleep, where an uncomfortable irritation burned inside him. 

But at lunchtime, when he sat down at their spot and waited with bated breath, Hyunjin never showed up.

Jisung jumped when the bell rang. His lunch was left uneaten, but he knew the emptiness in his stomach was not only from lack of food.

He worried his lip throughout the rest of his day, telling himself maybe Hyunjin would be at the exit. But he was uncertain, and couldn’t convince his treacherous mind even one bit.

When he made it back to the House, Seungmin was there, and before he could stop himself, he was spilling everything.

Poor Seungmin, who was struggling to wash dishes under cold water, sighed.

“You were spending lunchtime with the son of the CEO of one of the most powerful companies in Korea,” he huffed, “and you had no idea?”

“No!” Jisung snapped, defensively. “He doesn’t look like the rich type. Hell, the first time I saw him I thought he was a delinquent!”

“Jesus.”

“And he wasn’t even at school today. I’ll have to ask him tomorrow.”

“Be careful,” said Seungmin, warily. “My mother sometimes talks about Hwang, his father. She doesn’t say the best things.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just, the way he treats the people around him.” He hesitated. “She says he can be a bit… violent, I guess. With his inferiors.”

Jisung didn’t want to think about why he felt a violent chill run down his spine. He thought back to Hyunjin, to his bright smile, to his sharp eyes. To his bruises.

He slept in fear.

Hyunjin didn’t show up the next day either.

Or the day after.

The feeling of wrongness that’d been creeping up his throat since he last saw him was only growing, and Jisung was beginning to worry.

It only got worse when Hyunjin was absent again on Friday. He fumbled with his fingers, barely touched his lunch, and bit his lip until his mouth tasted like iron. He hated feeling like this, helpless and so desperate with the need to _know_.

Back at the House, Jisung couldn’t help but notice how anxious Ms. Park was. She would trot around the place, as if trying to find something to do, and, more than once, she’d barged into his room and asked if he needed anything.

“What’s wrong?” he asked when he was drying the dishes. Ms. Park was elbow-deep in the water, scrubbing furiously at the same plate for a good few minutes already. “You’ve been jittery all day, has something happened?” 

To his surprise, Ms. Park let go of the plate and leaned over the sink, chin tucked in and eyes closed. She huffed a humorless laugh.

“Hey,” said Jisung, putting down the Tupperware and grabbing her hands. “What’s up?”

She sighed, shakily. 

“Something’s going on in Hwang Management,” she said, and Jisung tried not to let his spark of fear show. “I don’t know what, but they haven’t signed any stocks besides the next two weeks. I thought it might have been a mistake, but I got in contact with them ten days ago and they still haven’t answered.”

Jisung swallowed the lump in his throat. 

“I’m sure they’ll answer,” he said, pulling her in for a hug as she let out another sigh. “Just wait, it might have only been a miscommunication.”

He willed his heart to slow down, set on calming Ms. Park when she let out a heartbreaking sob.

“I can’t let anything happen to the kids,” she cried.

“I know. But everything will be alright,” Jisung murmured. “Everything will turn out fine.”  


On Monday, Hyunjin was at the rooftop.

Jisung didn’t hear the door slam shut behind him, but he did hear his breath hitch. The boy was leaning against the ledge, looking up at the sky, and didn’t even flinch when the snow crunched beneath Jisung’s feet.

“Hwang,” he breathed. “Your surname’s Hwang.”

Hyunjin laughed, but it was bitter.

“It is.”

“Did you know? Did you know your father’s company was my orphanage’s sponsor? Is that why you never said anything?”

With his back still facing Jisung, he sighed and looked down.

“I knew,” he said. “But it isn’t why I didn’t tell you.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“Games are fun.”

“But this wasn’t a game,” Jisung pressed, inching closer. “Hyunjin, I know it wasn’t.”

They were quiet as Jisung stopped right behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey,” he called, softly. “Please look at me.”

Jisung almost regretted saying this when Hyunjin turned around. A part of him expected it, but that didn’t mean he was ready to see the bandages wrapped around his forehead and tucked under his hair, or his swollen cheek blemished with purple and green spots, or the dark red line circling his neck.

“Hyunjin…” he choked.

With shaky fingers, he brought his hand up to Hyunjin’s face, cradled his cheek. And if his heart skipped a beat when Hyunjin leaned into the touch, he would not mention it.

“You’re surname,” Jisung whispered. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Nine years ago,” Hyunjin croaked. “We met nine years ago when you arrived at the orphanage. When Hwang Management first began sponsoring it.”

Jisung searched his mind for anything, a memory, the slightest flashback, but came up with nothing. That time had been nothing but a blur of hurt and resentment.

“My mother wanted to adopt a child,” Hyunjin continued. “And, at first, I’d agreed. She didn’t know about my father’s… habits.” He sucked in a breath. “She gave me anything I wanted, and, well. I was selfish, I know. I was horrible. What I thought I wanted was someone else he could use as a punching bag.”

“Oh, god…” A violent wave of nausea hit Jisung. 

“But then we met you, and my mom _loved_ you. And, well, so did I.” He huffed a dry laugh. “I liked you so much, even when you barely spoke. I can’t explain it, just… We clicked, you know? At least I thought we did, but you didn’t seem to remember me.”

Jisung felt a pang of guilt.

“But that doesn’t matter,” Hyunjin quickly added. “I don’t blame you. I just. I noticed you’d go up to the rooftop, and I saw you wearing the necklace, and I just kind of assumed you remembered.”

Instinctively, Jisung brought his other hand up to his neck, where the thin silver chain held a small metal plate. _HH_. 

“Like I said, my mom gave me anything I wanted,” said Hyunjin, as Jisung watched him with burning eyes. “And I decided that the last thing I wanted was to see you getting hurt. So I begged her to call off the adoption.”

Jisung wasn’t sure what to feel, or what to say, or what to do. So, without saying a word, he leaned in.

Hugging Hyunjin was almost exactly like he’d imagined. The only difference was that it was infinite times better. He smelled like expensive cologne and freshly washed clothes, felt like warm campfires on a cold night, and kimchi stew in the winter. 

And Jisung absolutely _melted_. They could have stayed like that for hours on end, holding each other in a hug that felt familiar in ways they could not tell.

“There’s something you have to know,” said Hyunjin, seriously, after what’d felt like an eternity of silence. They pulled away, to Jisung’s dismay. “My father’s company is being investigated for fraud and illegal gambling.”

“Oh my god,” he gasped. “Do you know if it’s true?”

To his horror, Hyunjin nodded.

“They’ve been doing it for years now,” he spoke quickly and lowly as if he were scared someone would overhear them. “And the police have finally caught on. It’s only a matter of time before the public hears, but I think by then half the people in power will have been arrested.”

“And… your father?”

Hyunjin shrugged.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it—”

“No, Jisung,” Hyunjin cut him off. “That isn’t what I’m trying to tell you. Hwang Management is going to fall apart, you understand that, right?”

He slowly nodded.

“Jisung, that means the sponsorship will be canceled.”  


The House’s front door slammed open as Jisung barged inside, calling out.

“Ms. Park!” he yelled. “Ms. Park!”

Hyunjin, who’d managed to get them both out of school grounds just before the bell rang, was hot at his heels. They stomped inside, towards the kitchen. When he saw she wasn’t there, Jisung led them both out to the gardens, where, sure enough, she sat beside the dying Camellias, a book in her hands.

When her eyes landed on them, she yelped.

“Jisung, what are you doing out of school?” She gasped. “Wait, Hyunjin, is that—”

“Hwang Management is going to call off the sponsorship,” Jisung cut her off. “Ms. Park, that means the orphanage—”

“Oh.” She shot up, a hand atop her chest. “Oh, dear” 

She stormed inside the House, and the two followed suit.

The hours that followed were the most excruciating of Jisung’s eighteen years of life. He paced around the living room as Ms. Park made call after call, and only stopped when Hyunjin grabbed his hand and forced him to sit down.

Ms. Park wouldn’t tell them what the calls meant, but the desperateness in her tone was easy to read. She was becoming more frantic by the minute, and he could see her fingers shake even at a distance.

It was only when a small group of volunteers arrived that she let go of the phone. When she spoke with them, her voice wavered and her eyes shined. Jisung felt as if he was being stabbed with every tear she shed.

“Thank you for all your help,” she weakly said. “We spent good times together.”

And with that, they left.

Jisung didn’t see Seungmin there, and a lurking voice told him perhaps he would never again. His eyes burned harder.

The final drop was when Jeongin cried.

Once he’d arrived, Ms. Park had gathered him and the other kids up. She’d broken the news to them in midst of sobs and heart-wrenching words, and they had all cried just from seeing her break down.

But for Jisung and Jeongin, it was different. They’d grown up there at the House, next to each other. The scribbled walls and hollow staircase had become familiar, and, at some point, they learned to call that place their home.

And it would be snatched away from them.

Jeongin fell apart in his arms, and Jisung forced every little piece of himself to stick together so he could press him close to his chest and promise everything would be fine.

But as the clock ticked and reality began to sink in, Jisung felt he couldn’t bear it anymore.

Up in his room and sat on his bed with Hyunjin beside him, Jisung cried.

He cried more than he’d ever cried before because everything was just too much. He sobbed when he thought of leaving the House, of his plan to help the orphanage, of the years he’d spent there, growing up. And he choked on his own cries as he was suddenly reminded of just how much Hyunjin had done for him when he held him.

That night, he slept.

He didn’t dream or toss and turn, or even think at all. But he did curl into Hyunjin’s side under hefty blankets, a dreadful anxiety lulling him to sleep.  


Jisung didn’t want to wake up the next day. He wanted it all to be one big dream, he wanted to open his eyes and be up at the rooftop in the snow.

But soft fingers were carding through his hair, and he found himself forced to open his eyes.

Hyunjin was staring at him, a small smirk on his lips. Jisung’s first thought was how badly he wished to will the ugly bruises and blemishes away so he could see his pretty face.

Realizing what he’d just thought, he blushed furiously and stuffed his face in his hands.

“God,” he croaked. “What time is it?”

“Noon, I think,” Hyunjin whispered. 

Jisung shot up.

With a sigh, he slipped away from under his blankets and quickly pulled on his shoes.

Hyunjin treaded right behind him as he made his way down the stairs. Ms. Park was on the phone, swaying nervously on her feet and looking like she hadn’t gotten a second’s worth of sleep.

“Okay, thank you,” she said. “Right, I’ll await your call.”

She hung up with a huff, and only then did she seem to notice them.

“Hey, boys,” she said, smiling weakly. “Sleep well?”

Jisung shook his head, and without saying a word, surged forward to hug her. 

“Thank you,” she whispered when he let go.

“Can you tell me what’s going to happen?” he asked, sitting them both down.

“Well,” she started, broken. “The orphanage will have to close down, nothing can be done.” Jisung closed his eyes. “Yuna, Chaeryeong, and Yeri will be sent to a girl’s orphanage.” She paused and sucked in a sharp breath. “You, Yedam and Jeongin will go to another in the city.”

Ms. Park let out a sound halfway like a sob, as if she no longer had any tears left, and stuffed her face in her hands.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I’m so—”

At that moment, the door burst open.

“Ms. Park!” cried a familiar voice. “I’ve been trying to contact you for ages, but your phone seemed to be much too occupied. Oh, hello Jisung!”

Jisung felt a rush of happiness when Seungmin walked through the door, a tall woman dressed in red right behind him.

“Seungmin, what a pleasant surprise!” Ms. Park yelped, jumping up. “And who might this be?”

The woman, who didn’t look to be a day over twenty, smiled brightly. The clothes she wore were expensive, but the look in her eyes wasn’t that of a snob in the slightest.

“Hello, Ms. Park,” she said, extending a hand out. “My name is Kim Dahyun, and I’m the proud owner and headman of Kim Corps. My son tells me you’re in need of a sponsorship, yes?”  


Jisung hadn’t expected his last year in high school to be like this.

Kim Corps signed a sponsorship with the orphanage, and Ms. Park stayed up a whole other night making more phone calls, but this time the smile on her face made it a different story. 

Hwang Management faced a much more tragic ending. Jisung didn’t see Hyunjin for days after the company was shut down and hundreds of workers were arrested for illegal businesses. The news was filled with images of things he wished he could unsee, but the worst of them all was hearing about the trials held against the CEO for child abuse.

He was sentenced for life.

Meanwhile, the orphanage had been gaining a lot of pleasant attention. A swarm of volunteers genuinely worried for them appeared each and every day, always finding something to do. From fixing the wanky steps on the staircase to repainting the white walls so Yuna could doodle on them again, they each sought out a way to help.

Jisung had been spending a lot more time in his room, staring at the maroon flyer.

The help they were being given didn’t seem like it would go away anytime soon, and a soft voice in the back of his head told him they would be alright without him.

So why not try?

The entrance exams would be in a month.

He threw away his plan and marked the date on the calendar pinned behind his door.

For the first time in a long while, Jisung felt like things were more than okay. He wasn’t certain of anything anymore, but he knew it would turn out alright in the end. 

But the one thing keeping him awake was the boy that had once laid in bed with him.

One Saturday night, when he was staring up at his dark ceiling and twirling his necklace between his fingers, the door creaked open and Jeongin quietly padded inside.

“Jisung?” he whispered.

“Yeah?”

This seemed to be enough for him to crawl in beside him and lay on his back.

“Can’t sleep,” he explained.

“Same.”

They were quiet for a while, counting the seconds of silence that grew out to be minutes.

“You never joined a club,” said Jeongin, pointedly.

“I don’t think I will.”

“What do you plan on doing?”

Jisung took a few seconds to think.

“I’m going to become a writer,” he said, and immediately fell in love with how it sounded.

“That’s cool.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m going to become a singer.”

Jisung smiled.

“That’s cool.” 

And Jeongin laughed, as bright as he always had since they’d met as children.

“Yeah.”  


Three weeks after Hwang’s conviction, when the cool spring had slowly begun to warm up, Hyunjin was at the rooftop.

And Jisung’s heart burst like confetti at a party. 

He threw himself forward into the boy’s arms, and the two of them laughed when they almost toppled over.

“You’re beautiful,” Jisung blurted, simply because it was true.

The bruises on Hyunjin’s face had almost completely vanished, and the deepest scars were beginning to blend in with his skin. His eyes looked tired, but nevertheless warm, and Jisung felt his cheeks burn.

Without another thought, he leaned forward.

The kiss was as soft as their first hug, as warm as being under blankets with each other, and as passionate as Jisung had just realized he’d always been when it came to Hyunjin.

As they held each other, Jisung’s chest swelled with an emotion he could finally identify, and even with his lips bitten raw, he found himself never wanting to run away from any of it.

Perhaps it was not yet love, for it felt too young, too new, too fragile to be something as strong. But it was like a taste, a small sliver of what could one day become so much more. 

And Jisung would be as willing to wait for that day as he was to wait for winter to come and bring him hot pink Camellias.

\--The End--

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Tell me what you think down in the comments, and if you liked it please leave some kudos...  
> twt: @ty_callisto


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